


The Stark Contrast of Rosy Rings and Glowing Things

by eurodox59



Series: Rosy Rings and Glowing Things [2]
Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, tags added as they happen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-27
Updated: 2017-03-21
Packaged: 2018-09-12 14:02:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9075007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eurodox59/pseuds/eurodox59
Summary: "In 1981, the Americans made one more bid to win the space race once and for all. With the newly developed NERVA nuclear rocket engine, NASA launched a mission to Mars. The remains discovered there would forever change the course of humanity. What I remember most is toying with the idea of getting another bachelor’s degree, and a morbid fascination with Sylvester Stallone’s health as he undertook another Rocky movie."





	1. Something Old

**Author's Note:**

> Summary of Terms:
> 
> Hexers — In appearance, a cloud of ash and plasma given human form. In practice, biotics without element zero. Super soldiers with telepathic abilities. Have a strong healing factor and can regenerate lost limbs in a matter of hours, making them effectively ageless.
> 
> The Order of the Reborn (abbreviated OR) — An order of Hexers founded ca. 1510. As of 2181, they have a longstanding “don’t rock the boat” policy. They are largely organized into three branches: soldiers, hunters, and scholars. Hunters are spies, trackers, and scouts. Soldiers are the armed forces of the Order. The Order does not believe in Hexer-Human interaction.
> 
> Templar — A very old designation for soldiers. Officially assigned from 1701—1946. Existing Templars still prefix _Knight_ to their titles, leading to ranks such as _Knight-Captain_ , or _Knight-Major_.
> 
> The Federated Hexers, later The Federated Planets (usually Feds or Federals) — Originally a chapter of the Order, the Federals spawned from a delegation sent to the Grand Principality of Moscow in 1580. The delegation was given up as lost when it didn't report back, then rediscovered, along with what had become the Federals in 1955. The Feds firmly embrace Hexer-Human interaction, and have profited greatly from it.
> 
> Feral — In concept, a slobbering, homicidal lunatic. In practice, an increasingly shady name for criminals that is only marginally related to any crimes actually committed.

At the time of this writing, it is the 23rd of July, 2331. As the 150th anniversary of the Reaper War nears, I would like to submit to posterity my own testimony of the events involved, in story format. So before I begin, let me precede the narrative with 4 background events.

I was born in 1398. As I choose to celebrate my birth in March, I am now 833.

Around the year 1500, a clerical order was founded to both guide and control special individuals, known widely by many names, of which witch, hexer, and demon-spawn are examples. Their mission was originally to control the destructive tendencies of their kind, to find survival in secrecy. This changed in 1982. They founded Cerberus as a means to securing power and stability in the 2060s.

In 1981, the Americans made one more bid to win the space race once and for all. With the newly developed NERVA nuclear rocket engine, NASA launched a mission to Mars. The remains discovered there would forever change the course of humanity. What I remember most is toying with the idea of getting another bachelor's degree, and a morbid fascination with Sylvester Stallone's health as he undertook another _Rocky_ movie.

In the 2030s, the world exploded into war one more time. The so-called 'Red Years' of 2032 to 2045 are remembered for 2 things: brutality, and the birth of the Sol Systems Alliance.

Thus it is often said that the SSA was born in blood.

Now the year is 2181. For millennia, the Parnithians held vigil over the galaxy, awaiting the return of the so-called Great Darkness, frequently dominating and utilizing imperialist antics in order to recruit each new spacefaring race to their fold. Their favored means of maintaining political authority is the Special Tactics and Reconnaisance, or SpecTRe, division. One of its best agents has gone rogue. As events begin to spiral towards their inevitable, heady climax, let the curtains open upon the viewpoint of the war's greatest hero.

 

 

* * *

 

**December 2181**

**Citadel**

**Lt. Cmdr. Alexandria Shepard, SSAN**

 

You’d think that a lifetime in the Alliance military would instill an ability to get up at any time of day. It did. Oh, it did.

It couldn’t turn Alex into a morning person, though.

"Fffffffuck." Her friends… back when she had friends, they liked to tell jokes saying that she didn’t have a _war_ face so much as she had a _pre-coffee_ face with battlefield applications. They weren’t far off. She moaned with the effort of rising from the mattress. It was a sound fit for a zombie movie. A wrist gesture signaled an orange light to come on. In an immediate response, a dagger thrusted its way through her forehead, cleaving her face off. She looked at the time.

"5:05?” Her alarm was supposed to go off at 5 on the dot. _So…_ She shook her head, trying to shake the dagger off. “Nope. Too much thinking before coffee.” And God above have mercy on anyone who might try to keep her from her coffee.

Rising from her bed took effort. It was less like getting up should be and more like lifting concrete using a stick of butter. Walking? Forget about it. She shambled. Again, like a zombie. _Left. Right. Left. Right._ She passed by the mirror, wanted to take a look. _No,_ she decided. At that distance, it wouldn’t even come up to her shoulders, anyway. Crossing in front of the window, she stopped, waited. _Five, four, three, two, one…_ All at once, the windows opened and the lights came on, as a terminal in the room brought up a disgustingly peppy news channel.

"GOOOOOOD MORNING SHALTA WARD!"

 _Fuck you_ , she didn't say to the human newscaster. He wouldn't hear her through the screen, anyway. _Still though, the fuck is he on? Maybe I need me some of that._ Or maybe not, considering how quickly he burned through her patience. She snapped at the terminal.

"OFF!" That the terminal was prompt in obeying was a sweet spot in her fouling mood. _Cooooooffffeeeeeeeeeee_. She shambled the last few steps into the kitchenette, where she started a cup of instant coffee.

There was little enough she could do, in those seconds before the machine started spewing forth the precious liquid. So she waited. Silent, and still.

Once ready, she didn't drink it. Not right away. No, that would be a waste of a perfectly good cup. Instead, she brought it near to her face, and drank deeply of its aroma. Like the first wave of power through a circuit after a switch is turned on, a shudder rolled through her, bringing with it a semblance of consciousness.

  
She remembered that she had orders today. A new posting. As she took the first sip, she made a resolution. _I will make this work_.

 

* * *

 

**High Council Chambers**

**Office of the Asari Councillor**

**Councillor Aurelia T'Vanya**

 

If asked, Councillor Aurelia would say that she was having rather a bad day. It started with the morning intelligence briefing. More specifically, with Spectre Arterius. The very thought of him put a weary sigh in her chest. One more day he was missing, not responding to hails, which wasn't unusual for a Spectre, but also not making reports, not actively pursuing a known threat, growing increasingly violent… her chest heaved at the thoughts now running through her mind.

 _Goddess_.

Now he was supposed to be off gallivanting about somewhere in the Terminus, only this morning she learned of conflicting reports placing him somewhere in human space.

Her hand brought her tea cup to her face, only to find it empty. _Nothing._ She wants to laugh. _How like my day, to run out right now._ But she held a very high office in galactic government, so she didn’t.

She pours herself another cup instead.

Placing the earlier thoughts aside, she was now also learning of what the Hexers called Ferals. The name was originally attached to participants in some primitive blood sacrifice, which made its modern use all the more concerning, but she refused to concentrate on that. Instead, she focused on the important part: the threat of one such fugitive was more than enough to draw out a Hexer, and that’s exactly what she needed.

Aside for the monitor set up in her office, there was nothing unusual about today’s exchange. It was simply the completion of a transaction. The latest in a long line of exchanged favors. Her contact would be permitted to operate on the citadel with impunity, in exchange for a favor. Now that he had performed his side, she would watch him work under the protections that only she could offer.

On the monitor now was an alleyway, deep within one of the wards, where her contact would initiate the recruitment, and said recruit would be moved into position aboard the new human ship. It was all she could do, for whatever was coming. She could feel it somewhere deep within herself.A quote from a human play came to mind. _Something wicked this way comes._

Only three individuals knew of it, but Aurelia believed herself some sort of oracle of strife. Like the prophets of old, telling of the great darkness to come.

So she did what she could.

She had a good camera angle on both faces. They could not be more different. Her contact wore a disheveled long coat over an unkempt two piece suit, whereas the recruit wore a heavy, hooded jacket with a pair of blue denim leggings. She saw the smile on her contact's face and rolled her eyes. _He does love his drama._ She could see his lips moving. She saw the recruit tense up. _He said something._

And _then_ her contact remembered to turn on his microphone. She _hmphed_.

"Better question: what is the Federation doing here?" Her contact, one of the so-called _Federals_ , shrugged.

"I think it's just as good to ask what a Templar is doing chasing a feral." The Templar shook his head.

"Nary a guess, unfortunately." She raised an eyebrow at this. _Not one?_ "I had hoped that you could enlighten me." Her contact smiled, something he did quite often, as though all the galaxy were some grand joke to him.

"I'd be happy to." The smile dropped, and then there was silence. Lasting about 3 or 4 seconds. Some of the more tense seconds she'd borne witness to in her long life. Then, her contact, Federal Agent Crowley, spoke up. "There's a prototype ship in the human docks. SSV _Normandy_ ." He held up a hand. "Before you can ask, a number of Federal technologies went into her construction, so we keep an eye on her. By the time you reach the docks, the ship will have already departed for a supposed _shakedown cruise_ , so do not depart for the docks directly." _Three obvious questions, perhaps even four, which one will he ask?_

"And why are you telling me this?" _That one._ Crowley shrugged.

"Because I want you to deliver a message to one of your Shadowmasters."

"And why would I do this?" Another smile, again from Crowley. Unconsciously, Aurelia leaned towards the screen, interested. Invested, really. Crowley pulled out a datapad from his longcoat, held it towards the Templar as he spoke.

"This will tell you everything you could want to know." _That's it?_ Admittedly, this was the first recruitment that the good Councillor had been able to catch. It seemed remarkably simple. She waited until Crowley left the Templar a good distance away, then contacted him. A vidcall through the terminal in her room soon connected, showing Crowley's face on-screen.

"Aye?" And here she paused. For once, she had no idea where to begin. She grabbed at question words, then threw out the first one that came up.

"How?"

"How?" He drew out the word, not quite making sense of it.

"So simple?" He shook his head.

"Not quite. There isn't a single Federal invention on the _Normandy_ , otherwise you can be damn sure that we'd have managed e-surveillance.

"Surely he will find out."

"Oh, I'm counting on it, don't you worry. The datapad, however, is a fabrication of omission. Everything on it is 100% truth, but there's only enough information there to tantalize a thinking man."

"And the _Normandy_?"

"She is less important than the Templar. If I'd had my druthers, I'd deal with him myself. As it is, I'll have to go with a running recruitment. 'Sides, you think Saren's making a move, right?" Being possessed of centuries of patience and practice, she caught herself and responded with ease. _He's not really asking, he already has more than enough data to confirm, so consider him already read in._

"Yes."

"So where would a ship with a decorated veteran captain, a near full compliment of crew and a Turian Spectre go? How about to an idyllic colony that suddenly went all hush-hush?" _Got it in one_ , she thought as Crowley outright _flaunted_ whatever his sources must have been. "I know I'm right, so I'll go on. I suspect that the colony that suddenly hushed up about its delayed construction schedule just found something big. The fact that so much effort is being expended towards hiding it means the find must be _damn_ big. So what could be so big as to require security with guns _and_ obfuscation? Perhaps the same thing that requires construction to stop? I mean, most things can just be cleared out, but… you're zoning out, aren't you?" And she was.

"You do have a poor habit of babbling." He sighed. In spite of ideologically opposed, they had, over time, developed a friendly relationship. She wouldn't call him _friend_ just yet, but sometimes it was refreshing to speak plainly.

"Point is, it's obvious what's on E— the colony, and where the _Normandy_ is headed. She'll be as good a place as any to start recruiting him." Aurelia sat silently, allowing the… _information_ to sink in. Then, she spoke.

“Very well. I shall take your _suppositions_ under consideration.” The vidcall ended without a fare-thee-well. Even for their queer friendship, it just wasn’t really their way.

She had much work to do, however. Crowley hadn’t made a pronouncement, per their usual methods of exchange. And that was the beauty of it. What she had called _suppositions_ simply weren’t. Crowley, perhaps even the Federated Planets, believed Saren to be moving for the human colony of Eden Prime. With this in mind, then, many assets needed to be moved, support needed to be positioned, and most importantly, she couldn’t just park every fleet on _the_ colony. That… _might_ ward Saren off rather than trap him. _Might_ , because Saren, like all SpecTRes, was a formidable force, so instead of turning him away, an armada may instead be disregarded. Especially if Saren _somehow_ had a super weapon at his disposal. Aurelia thought about it for a second, which stretched into two, then three…

 _Too much risk._ she decided. She didn’t have nearly enough information on Saren to try and prepare for what he _might_ do. _So don’t try to stop him._ Instead, she would cherry pick specific units, place them strategically. Particular officers, both colonial and alliance, Human and Asari, would need to be… _instructed_ in the handling of _special circumstances_. She shook her head.

This… _spyspeak_ , or whatever the human term was, was unnecessary. It was almost as severe as a gathering of Matriarchs.

Nope. She retracted that statement from herself. Nothing was as bad as a gathering of Matriarchs.

Plainly put, she needed to put ships and soldiers into very particular places. She needed to brief the chain of command on the need for discretion and information. Their primary mission would need to be a combination of damage control and information gathering. And, perhaps most importantly, she needed to prepare a statement for when some Matriarch or other came to sniff in her garden. Because someone would come, and if she were not prepared, then whoever came might stop her, and then no one would be prepared.

 _No one except the_ Normandy.

She groaned, not wanting to face off against some busybody from Thessia. 

And if anybody asked, Councillor Aurelia would say that she was having rather a bad day. Her desk was piled with work and Saren and Prothean artifacts and all manner of concerns both great and small. And it seemed as though the pile would only grow.

 

* * *

 

**Central Europe, Earth**

**Eisenfurt**

**Master Leofric Howe, Master of Communications, Shadowmaster, OR**

 

He supposed himself a touch old-fashioned. The nameplate on his desk read "Master of Communications", but being a Hunter of the Order instilled in one a sense of unease regarding the unknown. Shadows hide daggers after all. More unusual was the report on his desk, a Templar had been sent alone, to chase a feral. That alone should have been a sufficient warning flag. When he investigated, however, he found the paperwork in perfect order.

The Templar had not, according to the papers, been sent alone, but had instead been requested by a Hunter already in the field. Obviously, that hadn't been the case. Now, Master Howe had a number of rather troubling possibilities before him.

First, there was the Federation, operating amongst the Order with utter impunity in spite of the Order's requirement that they submit.

Second, the false paperwork. It pointed to the possibility of a plant, or faulty technology. Either one required investigation.

Thirdly, the Feral. That there was neither fugitive nor evidence to suggest the existence of one spoke volumes on the failure of the Order to read between the lines of its mountains of paperwork. He sighed. The Order had become a fat elephant in recent decades, utterly incapable of reacting to issues in a timely manner the way it once did, and now it seemed as though every week he endured another round of mistakes like the ones currently before him.

Fourthly, the Templar's report. It relayed a message from a Federal agent: _Prepare: for the night is long and the day is short._ Doublespeak, obviously. The method was crude, frequently unreliable, and thoroughly obsolete. Whoever used it without first establishing a common dictionary could accomplish nothing more than confusion. Still, using the report as a basis, Master Howe conducted a private investigation.

He was beginning to suspect that he would have occasion to say it often: it was all rather concerning. A number of previously unconnected reports formed a behavior pattern: a Federal agent was definitely operating within Union space. They were sponsored, obviously, considering the apparent lack of numbers. Any Hunters would be looking for a very small operation. Perhaps 10 individuals at the most, though his instincts suggested less. This agent had been sniping recruits from the Order for some time, it seemed.

This could not continue.

Then the message proper. It was plain that the agent employed a dramatic flair. The fact that there was no mutual codex of pre-arranged terms indicated that the message proper was in plainspeak, leaving a doublespeak cipher to cover for what was intended to be an obvious plainspeak message. So it was that the message was uncovered: _The Great Darkness is almost here._ Master Howe placed his hands on his desk for support, or to ground himself. His was increasingly a wandering, absentee mind. One thing was for certain, however.

Even now, the Order's mission is to secure survival by any means. Even he had been skeptical of the Cerberus proposal: to assetize the one thing in the galaxy that the Asari would fear. _If such an entity does exist, it would be most prudent to secure its aid for our cause._

Jack Harper, if that was his name, was a very bold man.

In 1981, the Ares expedition made the discovery that would change the world forever. In 1982, the arrival of the Asari humbled the Order to depths not known since its creation, as humanity was offered the chance, well, forced, really, to join an exploitive union.

And now… now redemption lay with Cerberus, the human version of the Order. They offered a plan by which the Order might secure power and independence for humanity, and itself, by extension. _Do I dare?_ 'Twas not an honest question. Perhaps a younger, more idealistic man might still have rejected the proposal outright, but not he, Leofric Howe, Master of Communications, and Shadowmaster of Hunters for the Order of the Reborn. _To he whom much is given, from him much is expected._

He reached under his desk and pressed a button, sending for a… he believed the modern parlance referred to the position as a _mailman_.

From a drawer, he withdrew two small sheets of paper. One he folded and inserted into his pocket, the other he placed upon the datapad containing the report, marking it for special distribution to the Secret Council. He then rose to his feet, and left the room for a meeting of that esteemed body, intending to cast a vote. 

If Cerberus believed they could make an asset of the Great Darkness for humanity, then _let them rise to 't._


	2. Something Wicked This Way Comes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Sometimes, it seemed like the universe was some gigantic shitlord."

**December 2181**

 

**Widow Nebula, Citadel**

 

**Lt. Cmdr. Alexandria Shepard, SSAN**

 

Sometimes, it seemed like the universe was some gigantic shitlord. In spite of her promise, Alex’s teeth itched like hell by the time she got to the docks. She just stood there at first, once more conscious of being the tallest person (no,  _ sapient _ ) in the room. It was active. Too active, really. The  _ SASV Normandy _ was just going for a shakedown cruise, so why were they laying in for a much longer mission? Why was an asari commando squad hanging around the human docks? Why was there a full squadron of marines? 

 

The  _ hell _ was going on?

 

She hefted her duffel bag into a more comfortable position then scanned the dock, looking to report in. The voice that called out to her wasn't what she was looking for, but it  _ did _ sound like someone official.

 

“Halt!” 

 

She did as told, and turned to face the approaching stranger. Given that it had been a feminine voice carrying an inappropriate grace, Alex was not surprised to face an asari guard. If it had been a Krogan or a Vorcha, that would’ve been something else. But nope, just a pissed Asari. Fun. 

 

“Papers, please.” the guard said.

 

Normally, Alex would’ve made a big show about searching her pockets, just to have a little fun at guard’s expense. Besides, she already showed her papers to the guard outside. Too bad she put her armor in her bag. Otherwise she might’ve been willing to risk the warp. There was a moment spent doing nothing as she watched the guard eyeball the ID she beamed over, but to a ship overarmed and overstaffed for a shakedown cruise, Alex added another weird thing: the Asari snapped off a salute. To Shepard. The  _ Human _ .

 

_ What? _

 

“Is everything in order?” She had asked in hesitance, but the guard responded out of speed and efficiency.

 

“Yes, ma’am. You’re clear to go.” 

 

Good. And  _ weird. _ An Asari being helpful?

 

What was this? Opposite day?

 

“Is there a reason you’re saluting me?” There was something of the bird-in-the-headlights to the guard’s reaction, so completely had she been taken unaware. And by such a simple question.

 

“Is… is that not how you Humans do it?”

 

“No… that’s correct. Just… I thought you Asari had your own units?” Had Alex even so much as the camera app on her ‘tool, the Asari’s baffled, owlish expression would’ve been a picture for the ages.

 

“Oh!” To her credit, the guard knew her shit. She had her own ‘tool out in short order, and sent a copy of her orders to Alex’s tool. “My orders were to report to the  _ Normandy _ , effective immediately. I assumed you would know more, sir.” That she used the correct honorific was filed away in the back of Alex’s mind.  _ Hum. _ She read over the orders, concern growing itself on her face like an unpleasant weed, then wiped a hand.

 

“Great. Just perfect. Somebody’s playing games again.” Just like… like that other thing, which she refused to think about, but which just happened to be the one thing she was famous for.

 

“Sir?” Alex shook it off.

 

“I’m sure somebody knows what the hell is going on. You taking orders from the Lieutenant—” she thought quickly to the personnel files she’d read “—Alenko?” A nod. “Good. As you were, then.” Another salute, then she returned to her post, while Alex continued making her way to the ship.

 

Something was definitely up. There was nothing normal about doubling up on security, posting guards on both sides of the door. Add to that the fact that they were asari guards no less. Super conspicuous in a human dock. Then, the asari unit being attached to the  _ Normandy’s _ marines. No matter what backroom bullshit Alex was used to, there was no way those asari could’ve been redeployed under human command, excuses be damned. Moving away from the asari—

 

_ That’s a ship _ . And it was, it was quite the ship, being all sleek curves and supercharged sex appeal, strapped to the biggest engine that human money could buy. Truth be told, the  _ Normandy _ looked more like an atmospheric vehicle than a spacefaring one, a design choice common to both Humans and Turians and just plain senseless for a spacefaring vessel. On each...  _ wing _ was strapped 2 engine nacelles, sleek and shapely like the rest of her. There was a single vertical stabilizer mounted in the rear of the fuselage, with a delta wing mounted atop that. Finally, completing this senseless charade was a pair of… Alex called them  _ doodads _ , as they were strips of metal mounted to the nose with…  _ rotating arms _ . And there she stopped, redirecting her mind onto a new track before focusing on the ship could get her blood running. 

 

_ Were her designers trying to build a bird or jack off? _ She could understand building a ship around a gun. Hell, most of the ships in the fleets were built that way, the engine a close secondary consideration. It was what produced their characteristic snout-like appearance. Yet the  _ Normandy _ kicked it up a notch and committed one of the gravest sins of engineering: she was fucking beautiful. And that meant a lot of dead weight.

 

_ Only one question. Is she for fighting or for show? _ Some perfectionistic part of her mind tried to drag her back to keep considering the conundrum of the ship, but she had to report in, so she moved towards the airlock.

 

The VI was the worst part of decon. After about the third time the laser wall passed over her, Alex made a face and gesticulated to the metre of “decontamination in progress.” Only the once, though, because then the damn VI reminded her to be still. As in, sit still, as in, cooperate, as in  _ you’re gonna pay for that. _ And while she  _ could _ try to duke it out with the VI, there’s no way she could come out of that without making a fool of herself. So she stood there, stock-still, musing on the reason (or reasons) that anybody could consider a piece of computing hardware  _ alive _ .

 

When at last the cycle finished, she tried the door. And the door did nothing. She tried again. Same result. She started looking around for an intercom, not wanting to break out the hacking scripts unless it was necessary. Fortunately, the intercom announced itself using a familiar voice.

 

“Please identify yourself.”  _ Let’s see, loud, squawky voice, insufferably smug tone, it can only be— _

 

“Wow, that’s  _ damn _ professional of you, Joker.” 

 

She could hear the grin in his response. “And you’re using big words today. Guess the galaxy’s full of surprises.” 

 

Alex choked down a laugh. This was their friendship. It was based on one-liners, technical work, and an unholy love of pizza.  _ Good thing he went merc a couple years back. He’d never make it in uniform. _ She’d been… more than a little surprised that the Alliance worked so closely with  _ Private Military Contractors _ or whatever the term was, so she made sure to fix that by beefing up on her knowledge of Alliance procedures and protocols. Besides, sometimes the little details paid off, like when she figured out that Alliance command would’ve been tripping over itself to hire him in particular. 

 

It wasn’t every day that a merc pilot could outshine half the damn navy.

 

Alex began looking around for a camera.

 

“You’re telling me. You know I had an Asari salute me out there?” A pregnant pause followed.

 

“You’re shitting me.” 

 

She found the camera and strode over.

 

“Not at all. Take a good pic and I’ll tell you myself.”

 

“Sure thing. Oh, and uh, congratulations on the promotion,  _ Commander _ .” That’s right. She had that shiny new naval officer’s commision hanging on to her rank, now.

 

Like a bloodsucking parasite that refused to let go.

 

“Just open the door.” Once inside the corridor connecting the helm to the CIC, Alex took a look both ways, and whistled.

 

“Like what you see?” Her head whipped around to face the bow. The sight of Joker, his arms behind his head, his chair leaning all the way back, and a smug expression on his face exaggerated just enough to appear clownish. She shook her head, grinning.  _ Only him! _

 

But then he made a quick side-glance to the copilot’s chair, sending an obvious message.  _ We have an audience. _ That wiped the smile off her face. She then shot him one of her trademark Soul-Piercing Glares, carrying another message.

 

_ Ass _ . He remained unperturbed.

 

_ Don’t I know it.  _ And he did. As a merc, he had a lot of leeway on what he could and couldn’t do. She didn’t, so she strode over to the helm to meet the mystery man. Or woman. Person.

 

The  _ man _ , as he turned out to be, got up, saluted, and introduced himself, giving her an opportunity for a first look. He had dark hair on olive skin, styled that hair in a pompadour, and when he spoke, his voice dripped feelings of soft comfort she used to associate with home.

 

On Mindoir.

 

“Lieutenant Kaidan Alenko.” Staff Lieutenant and commander of the  _ Normandy’s _ marines. Also, a soft spoken man who was having trouble relaxing in front of the boss (herself). 

 

“Commander Alex Shepard.” She was the executive officer (XO), handpicked by their captain, David Anderson. She gave him the Nod, trademarked by stoic officers everywhere.

 

“I, uh, couldn’t help but overhear your conversation.” She raised a brow, which had the strange effect of putting some tension in his body. “I had an asari lieutenant salute me this morning.” Her other brow went up.

 

“You’re shitting me.” He dismissed the accusation, shaking his head and relaxing.

 

“Not at all, sir.” She took a quick deep breath.

 

“Well, Lieutenant, I have every intention of following orders, but I think I just might laugh at the next guy who says  _ shakedown cruise. _ ” He relaxed at this, but didn’t smile.  _ Not much of a joker?  _ She stuck out her hand. “At any rate, good to meet you,” they shook, “and Joker.” The head of the pilot in question swiveled to face her. “Try not to make anybody kick your brittle ass.” She walked away before he could respond, headed towards the XO cabin.

  
  


Her cabin was on the crew deck. Opposite side of the ship from the Captain’s cabin. On the way, she’d located the mess hall, laundry, latrines, and all the other important places to know. Her kit was safely stowed in her locker, leaving some spare clothes, a shield generator harness, and a pistol. 

 

She took a glance around the room. Perhaps on the low end of the hole-in-the-wall scale. It was longer than it was wide, following the shape of the ship, but wide enough to place a bed and end table on the wall opposite the door. There was a desk, too, about halfway across the room from the door. That and a chair rounded out the furnishings. She placed her duffel bag in the corner, and started unpacking.

 

The silence was a good opportunity to think. Sort her feelings out, really, because of her teeth, yes, but also because it turns out that keeping shit bottled up for too long is unhealthy. So first the primals.

 

There was… the hand of fear, gripping her heart. Nothing serious, but more than a little puzzling.  _ Noted _ . Next… the distinct feeling she liked to call  _ nothing. _ She didn’t have much to say about it.  _ Noted. _ One step above the primals, apprehension hung on her shoulders, a heavy weight that would drag her down if she let it…  _ Noted. _ She filed it away under  _ deal with this _ . Then, she had a thought.

 

_ Do I feel like I don’t deserve this? _ She snorted.  _ I’m a marine. Why do I suddenly have a navy commissioned?  _ Speaking of why, why was a new ship being crewed with so many salad bars? From the top, there was Captain Anderson, the N7, then herself, XO and the so-called Hammer of Elysium, then Navigator Charles Pressley, career man and veteran of the Batarian conflict.  Next in line were the various sections. Of these, the only notable thing besides Joker was the Asari. On the way here, she learned that somebody had the bright idea of stuffing a squad of asari commandos in with the  _ Normandy  _ marines, and that the ship was delayed while Anderson figured out who’s idea it was that they were a taxable freighter instead of a warship. It occurred to her that they were pawns in some damned Matriarch’s schemes.  _ As if those poor bastards on Torfan weren’t enough. _

 

Her omnitool beeped at the same time her door chimed. Checking the former, she noticed that she’d dug her nails into her palm.  _ Need to trim those. _ To the latter, she called out.

 

“Come in.” The door opened to a turian. Male, judging by the length of his fringe. Dark plates, white colony markings, but also a non-standard uniform. Turians don’t go wandering about for the hell of it, soooo… “What can I do for you, spectre–”

 

“Kryik. Nihlus Kryik.”  _ Great. _ He as much as confirmed it, meaning he was okay with her knowing. His armor looked like it was for fighting, which wouldn’t say much to most people, but most people would be surprised that even the hierarchy deployed its own version of Alliance infiltrators, cloaks and everything.  _ Soldier?  _ She noticed him staring and realized that they’d been standing there.  _ Whoops. _

 

“Right. What can I do for you, spectre?”  _ Damn. _ A spectre on board just confirmed the Itch.  _ Something big is going down. _

 

“The council has taken an interest in the  _ Normandy _ and has stationed me here for observation.” Just a couple of hours ago, she would’ve called bullshit. But now… “I’m just introducing myself to the crew,” he explained. 

 

It seemed truthful on the surface, but then why not send a team? Your average expert wouldn’t know enough about ships to give a proper report, unless they were asari. Still... 

 

“Is everything in order?” he asked.

 

_ Aside from you being full of shit?  _

 

“Yes, everything’s good,” she responded. She stuck out a hand, and looked at the one that came to grasp it. _Only 3 fingers?_ _Well, if he knows how to give a handshake._

 

He did. 

 

He knew a lot of other things as well, like how to stalk a woman, how to watch her as she slept; generally speaking, how to be a  _ real _ creep. It wasn’t until they shared a meal in the mess hall that she found out why.

 

“So… wait, the council wants humanity to become a member?” Alex asked. Before the meal, their so-called  _ shakedown cruise _ appeared to be exactly that. She was about to learn why it really wasn’t.

 

Nihlus shook his head, a surprisingly human gesture, but when in Rome…“Actually, the Asari want humanity on the council.” That made more sense. A human councillor would give them the ability to claim representation.  _ Just like everybody else. Yay. _

 

“And this hasn’t happened because?”

 

“Part of it’s the fact that humanity would lose some of its commonwealth privileges from that treaty of yours. Part of it’s the usual political bull.” 

 

Oh. That meant that some councillor thought he/she/they/it could win some points by sticking it to their mutual blue-skinned overlords. No doubt they would, until the overlords in question decided to make an example of the councillor and retaliate. As everybody knows, after all, the council is more or less bullshit. 

 

A weary sigh burst from her lips. “Okay. And I assume the councillor has some kind of plan in place?” 

 

Uh-oh. His mandibles flared  _ way _ out, the turian version of a big, fat grin. “And I quote,” he even did the obligatory throat-clearing thing for effect, “ _ Whereas, humanity has thus far demonstrated its willingness to cooperate with the greater galactic collective, _ ” he waved a hand about, reminding Alex of a cartoon magician casting a spell, “ _ It is resolved, that humanity is now ready to place one of its own— _ ” 

 

“Oh, Christ, it’s gonna be me, isn’t it.” 

 

For his part, Nihlus looked gravely offended. “I was getting to that part. Ahem.  _ Resolved, that humanity is now ready to place one of its own amongst the Special Tactics and Reconnaissance division. _ ” 

 

Now, now fear placed her heart into a vice and  _ squeezed. _ She felt winded, even as her breath picked up. It was a significant moment before she calmed down.

 

“So they want to prove humans can join the council by putting humans in the Spectres?” The damn grin  _ grew. _ “What if I say no?” 

 

Then, the grin died along with the air, as his mandibles  _ clacked _ against his face. Nihlus leaned in, going for more dramatics as he whispered conspiratorially. “Something you should learn quickly about galactic politics is that the asari  _ always _ get what they want. What you should be asking, really, is something else, more along the lines of  _ how many had to die in order to get you this spot _ .” 

 

_ Shit. _

 

“They can’t—” 

 

As he interrupted her, he jumped back, as if recoiling, spreading his arms out wide. “Ah, but they didn’t.” Then he placed his hands on the table. “All they have to do is exercise their selective memory. Maybe some parts get held up, maybe some food which isn’t normally taxed suddenly is. Maybe there’s some  _ confusion _ at the docks somewhere. Point is, the asari  _ always _ have a trick up their sleeve. 

 

“So you want to know what would happen if you said no? You should be asking how much suffering you’re willing to tolerate.” 

 

_ Well fuck. Fucking fuck-fuck.  _ There it was, right in front of her. She had rights, but only so long as the damn asari were willing to recognize them. So either she joins the galaxy in sucking asari cock, or they work some kinda bureaucratic magic to make sure she’s theirs anyway? Well, that seemed like a good enough question, but professionally, she wouldn’t ask it.

 

“So, my choice—” 

 

He sliced the question using his hand. “There’s no ‘choice’ about it. They’re only pretending you have a choice, to make it look and feel nice.” 

 

This... this was no bomb. It was more like something had gone and sat on her face. Same kind of suffocation. She nodded.

 

“Right.” Next thing to do was make plans. _So how do I get out of this?_ The immediate action was obvious. _I don’t. Only way forward is to go with this._ _But then?_ And that was the kicker. She hated what was being done to her, but she didn’t hate it enough to set up shop in the Terminus. She wasn’t a merc. She wasn’t in it for money or glory. She was in it to protect people. Beyond that, she didn’t need to think about it too much _._

 

“So why me?” Focusing on him, she saw his brow plates set into a low line and his mandibles flaring again.  _ Somebody’s enjoying himself. _

 

“Why  _ not _ you?” Poor move. Alex never appreciated someone who didn’t talk straight. Internally, she called him a smartass. Externally, she shrugged.

 

“There must—” she stopped. Between her professionalism and her friends, she was almost two different people. The way she talked when doing business was entirely different from the way she talked among friends, a mask she referred to with her last name.  _ Better put it on now. _ “There must have been more than enough soldiers with the skill to be a spectre.” 

 

The turian nodded, and leaned back, his meal finished and his faceplates and mandibles relaxing. He looked almost contemplative, in comparison to his earlier theatrics.

 

“There were, there were. Five of them, actually. I sat in on the committee your government formed to sort through them. In the end, four of them were good at breaking things, good at their job, or even good at using their eyes, but you’re the only one who was not beholden to any arm of your government.” 

 

_ So I got the axe because politics? Whoop-dee-fucking-doo. _ On the side, she added this exchange to her earlier tally of weird things: she was picked for spectre candidacy because of politics, and the overall  _ secrecy _ of this mission stank of backroom bullshit.  _ How much you want to bet that this comes “from the very top”? _ A small, smartass part of her wanted to actually set up a betting pool over it. She was confident she could win big. 

 

They both stood up. She to leave, having finished her food during the conversation. He to do God-knows-what. Preferably  _ away _ from her. But she had one last word to get in, first.

 

“Well Mr. Kryik, this has been an exciting conversation, but we both have places we need to be.” 

 

She had a lot to think about.

  
  


One brooding session later, she approached the helm of the ship. Reason? She had nothing that could be done from a desk and a boundless drive to get shit done. She was bored. On the way, she passed Kryik headed towards the comm room. She was still a little shaky from their talk, but she had him pegged as a bit of a wiseass, and him walking around was definitely a notable item. Not at all influenced by him dropping a bomb on her ass regarding the fact that the rest of her life had just been decided for her and playing it up for shits and giggles. Nope. Not at all. After that, she stepped into a conversation between Joker and Alenko.

 

“You’re paranoid. The council backed this project, so they have a right to send someone to oversee their investment.” The latest, hottest scuttlebut  was the hush-hush nature of their mission. Alenko did what he could to put a damper on it, but sometimes there was no stopping the ship rumor mill. 

 

His conversation partner, Joker— “Yeah, that’s the  _ official _ story.” Joker was Joker, highly skilled, often mouthy, aaaaaand— “Only an idiot believes the official story,”  _ deeply _ opinionated.  _ Time to step in. _

 

“Do you have a concern, Joker?” Sometimes talking was just about what a body said, and sometimes, like now, said body’s tone of voice needed to say what couldn’t be said out loud. As she started speaking, Joker tilted his head back to show he was listening, but when she finished he turned to face her without stopping his work. An awkward silence developed, eventually broken by Kaidan, not Joker.

 

“Sorry, Commander.” 

 

Followed by Anderson. “Joker! Status report.” 

 

Joker wasted no time facing forward and answering the captain.

 

“Just cleared the mass relay, Captain. Stealth systems engaged, board is green.” 

 

“Good. Find us a comm buoy and link us into the network. I want Alliance brass knowing our every move before we reach Eden Prime. And tell Commander Shepard to meet me in the comm room for a debriefing.” 

 

Joker nodded slightly, and acknowledged the order aloud.

 

“Aye aye, Captain.” In a rare move for him, he bit down on something he wanted to say, though Alex would never have caught it if she didn’t know that him working his throat was a tell. At any rate, the time for speaking up passed and he turned to face her. “You get that, Commander?” 

 

She grunted her assent and turned to leave.

 

On the way, she stopped to talk to some people, starting with the guy who kept raising a stink about “aliens”.  _ Rude _ . Navigator Charles Pressley felt the Itch keenly. He was quick to blame it on a career of hunting alien ‘pirates’, but assured her that he would not let his feelings become a problem. Corporal Jenkins, though…

 

“We won’t be staying too long on Eden Prime, will we? I’m looking for some real action.” That was mistake number one. Alex cut him off before he could get too far with that thought.

 

“Relax, Corporal. Only a fool goes looking for a fight.” But instead of relaxing, he only got more excited. 

 

“Sorry, Commander, but the waiting’s killing me.” If they weren’t in a life or death job, Alex might’ve appreciated the excitement. As it was, she counted that against him with strike two. “I’ve never been on a mission like this before. Not one that needed a Spectre on board.”

 

“Just treat this like any other mission and you’ll be fine.” She couldn’t get angry at him, just disappointed.

 

“Easy for you to say, Ma’am. You proved yourself in Elysium.”  _ Proved herself _ was a really bad phrase for what she did on Elysium. And it was only last month that she could begin to forgive people who listened to the fucking propaganda campaign that took place afterwards. “Everybody knows what you can do.” 

 

It wasn’t strike three, technically, but he was pretty close. Still, another thing she’d learned in her unexpectedly long life: people don’t know shit. Anybody could say that assholes and opinions were two things that could be found on any human. They’d have to convince her that there was a real comparison there first. She pressed down once more.

 

“We’re not here for glory, Corporal. Do your job, keep your head down, and  _ don’t _ be a hero.”  _ This _ time, she got through.

 

“Don’t worry sir, I won’t mess this one up.”

 

They both stood there a moment as she searched his expression.  _ Will you? _ She’d seen glory hounds in her time. The corporal didn't have that kind of hunger, just a dangerous eagerness. The silence stretched out for a second, then another, until she filed the incident away in her mind, resolving to keep an eye on him.

 

Between the comm room and the galaxy map was that stupid wall. There was no obvious sense to it. If a body wanted secrecy on a tiny-ass frigate, they were in the wrong branch. Like with the rest of the ship, the wall seemed to be there for no other reason than to look nice or make something else look nice. And just before she was ready to dismiss it as more of the ship emphasizing form over function, she caught Nihlus slinking towards the elevator. As much as a big-ass turian could slink, anyways. She started a new tally of weird things, and Nihlus stalking his way out of the CIC was item number one.

 

But the Asari officer standing inside the comm room didn’t count. No, the asari being what they were to the galaxy, a suspiciously helpful member of their race would be best filed as  _ oh shit, run. _ Too bad Alex was spotted as soon as the entered the door.

 

“Commander Shepard? Lieutenant Seleris,” she stuck out her hand. While Shepard was conscious of having lived under a rock for the first 20 years of her life, she was surprised at how universal the handshake had become. Not only did races with hands like the turians and asari use it, but she’d once been on the receiving end of a hanar handshake. These thoughts were a distraction, though. With one way out of this, she donned the mask. 

 

_ Goodbye, Alex. Hello, Shepard. _

 

“Howdy.” She stepped forward and accepted the handshake. The prime suspect for Nihlus slinking out of the room stood at just under six feet. Probably closer to five foot nine. Purple skin canvassed itself over weary blue eyes and a multitude of haggard stress lines. 

 

Seeing a  _ difficult _ conversation surging up the asari’s throat, Shepard moved first. 

 

“You ever get the feeling that somebody’s playing games with your life?” Based on the way Seleris’ eyes bugged out, she’d hit a Grand Slam clear out of the park.

 

“Goddess, yes!” She started pacing about the room. “All the time! It’s like my superiors don’t care about my life and my inferiors want to take it for their own!” 

 

Shepard spoke up a second time, feeling empathy for the  _ asari _ , of all the damn aliens, while also wanting to get the briefing underway.

 

“Don’t go behind my back, then, and we’ll be fine. Now, what’s this whole mission about?” 

 

Seleris didn’t miss a beat. Somehow, this was surprising enough to be noteworthy.  _ Gonna have to get used to that. _

 

“I’m sure agent Nihlus has made you aware of your candidacy, so I don’t need to—” she was interrupted by the door cycling, letting someone else into the briefing. Shepard turned to see Anderson striding in. Said stride had a certain measured quality to it, like he was hunting something. No, stalking.  _ Stalking _ , was the word for it. Lot of times an N developed the walk once they hit tier  _ 5 _ . Sometimes, it didn’t happen until tier  _ 7 _ . Sometimes, a body came in just needing it honed out of whatever they already were. Regardless, it was a very common sight inside the N track, and a very uncommon sight outside of it. 

 

Seleris moved to Shepard’s side as Anderson took center stage, and a stock of his audience.

 

“Where’s Nihlus?” 

 

Seleris spoke up, answering Shepard’s question from earlier. “Agent Nihlus has been placed under review, due to some…  _ developments _ with his mentor.” 

 

Outside of the observation that this apparently involved taking him off the mission, Shepard could only guess at what was really meant by being  _ under review _ . Beyond the obvious, of course. 

 

Anderson raised a brow. “That’s… unfortunate. Is this related to your assignment?” 

 

Seleris nodded. His brow came down.

 

“Yessir.” 

 

Anderson turned to face Shepard.

 

“Shepard, it’s time you were informed about our mission. We’re making a covert pickup on Eden Prime. A research team there discovered some sort of beacon. They believe it’s Prothean.” 

 

Shepard nodded. This was some pretty big shit. She’d bet that the researchers were having a field day over the beacon. It also answered a couple of other questions. Need some fancy security to transport the beacon, can’t let the beacon fall into bad hands, need better facilities for it than an ag-colony could provide. A lot of things were starting to match up, except—

 

“Then why the spectre?” 

 

Anderson fielded the question. “Because this wasn’t just about the pickup, but I understand you already know that.” 

 

_ And how. But what happens to my candidacy if Nihlus isn’t— _ and then, there was no more time for talking. The intercom crackled to life.

  
“Captain!” Joker’s voice snapped. “We got a problem: emergency transmission from Eden Prime. You better see it.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _sweats_
> 
> So, my dudes. It's been a while. Can't say I can promise regular updates, but I will try hard to keep it inside 2 months.

**Author's Note:**

> UPDATE: redid the chapter. Wound up paring it down by about 400 words. Still, I think it's now soooooooooo much better.  
> UPDATE 1/10/17: Added glossary to beginning of chapter. Chapter needs rewriting in order to accommodate the relevant lore changes.


End file.
